Finding You
by SnowGirl098
Summary: Tenzin and Lin have a lot of history. A lot of it went unsaid. Takes place after Turning the Tide. linzin/linzen/whatever you want to call them.


So. I haven't written fanfic in a while because every time I try to continue my Jesse and Rachel (Glee universe—whole other story) fic, I get depressed and can't seem find a way to finish it. However, the recent Legend of Korra episode left me with too many ideas and thoughts, so I thought I'd try writing them out to some kind of plot. Again.

Also, as a warning: this is going to be a multi-chapter (three or four chapters maybe) story and there is going to be the death of a beloved character. I don't know if she's loved by all, but _I_ hold her dear in my heart. I just…can't have her alive for this. (I'm sorry!)

* * *

_At least that won't ever change_. It's all he can think, watching her tear apart the war balloon.

Even when they were kids, Lin had been fearless. She'd been the one to convince him that going into the rocky, unexplored caves at the other end of Air Temple Island would be fun. She'd grabbed his hand and pulled him down from the five-foot ledge they'd been sitting on, stumbling all the way to the caves, where they had pretended to fight robbers and mob leaders, protecting Republic City.

She hadn't been afraid of flying, either, despite the fact that her own mother claimed it was the worst experience imaginable. He recalled the time his father had offered to take them up on the then two-month-old sky bison. As soon as they were in the air, Lin had climbed to the front of the saddle, stood up, and tossed her head back to the wind.

Brave, bold, beautiful Lin.

When he sees the other balloon turn around, he knows she's not coming back.

...

It wasn't something they'd ever spoken of aloud, not after.

At one time, many years ago (_a lifetime ago_,_ really_, he thinks) they'd been unbreakable. Every time she'd walked away (and it _was_, always, her who walked away—well, _stomped_ really), she'd come back. It wasn't a matter of days, weeks, or even months; both of them had always known that she'd come back, or he'd chase after her.

After all, she'd never told him not to. They'd been young, and foolish, and wonderfully naïve.

Now, there's a terrifying fear that she's too far out of reach.

Which is ridiculous, really, because it's _Lin_ and she's too stubborn _not_ to come back and make some sort of mess in his life, if only to annoy him.

Except, it's happened once before, and he hasn't managed to bridge the distance since.

It's not a day they talk about. It's not a day anyone has ever talked about, simply because nothing could be fixed, through spoken word or any other means. He's never told his mother, or his father. He's never dared to mention it to Pema, as often as he thought about it.

And he does think about it, quite often.

He figures he should feel guiltier, because Pema has asked in the past. She didn't ask often, but he's brushed off the question on more than one occasion, claiming it was simply ridiculous, when, really, it was anything but.

He'd figured it wasn't his place to answer, so he didn't.

_It seems Lin has_, he thinks, recalling her words. _You and your family are the last airbenders._

The words weren't an apology; they weren't even an explanation. They were a parting phrase, an end to something that had been left open and broken years ago.

He can't even begin to count the number of times that phrase has haunted him: _the last airbenders._

There's been many a time when he's pondered (and maybe even wished) that the circumstances had been different. How many council meetings had he sat through, watching Lin in her uniform, back straight and neck stiff, head held high—and wondered. Wondered what would have happened if things had been different, if they hadn't bore the names they did.

And yet, they couldn't help who they were. As adults, there had been responsibilities and expectations to live up to.

Tenzin sighs, remembering a time from years ago that has become familiar upon his own revisiting.

He recalled Lin—young, bony, and full of mischievous laughter, her face unmarred. He himself had been shyer, calmer, and, oddly intrigued by the young girl with ebony tresses who liked to throw rocks at his head, but smiled when he'd airbend them back towards her.

She'd thrown many rocks at him, simply because she could. Later, she'd tell him it was because she knew he could deflect them. Besides, they didn't hurt.

He recalled an older Lin, covered from head to toe in mud. She'd laughed when she'd scared him, popping out of the ground flinging mud everywhere. She'd promptly flopped back down in the wet earth when he'd made his father's disapproving face, flinging a small clump at his head in the process. He hadn't dodged quickly enough and ended up with a face full of mud and bits of grass. Soon after, he'd given up (he always did, with her) trying to stay clean and rolled in the mud with her, and they'd spent the afternoon creating mud statues. Later, he'd been scared of his mother scolding him for ruining his robes (again), so she'd taken him to the eastern edge of the island where he discovered that a small creek cut inland.

It seemed she knew his home better than he did.

She'd promptly stripped off her mud-laden clothes until she was in only her bindings and jumped in, bending a large rock in the creek so that it caught her clothes right where the water rushed by, cleansing the robes green.

He'd felt his face heat up, and she'd laughed at him, saying his lack of hair made him look even more like her red bouncy ball. Eventually though, he, too, stripped off his robes and wedged them beneath the boulder. They spent the entire afternoon wading in the creek. When they returned to the house, Katara only shook her head at them and bent their robes dry.

Weeks later, Aang would find a mud figure beyond the vegetable garden that looked suspiciously like himself, except the figure was molded into a dance pose and there were shiny rocks at the tips of its feet.

When they were both teenagers, years later, there would be Lin, looking more like a woman than the wiry girl he'd rolled with in mud, with sharp, high cheekbones and pretty green eyes. Some things remained unchanged though, and she'd discreetly bounce a pebble on his head when he wasn't looking. He'd turn around to find nobody, but he'd notice that the corner of Lin's mouth was turned up in a familiar smirk.

There would be one time, _only once_—as Lin would often forcibly remind him and only because he insisted—that he'd be bolder and braver than her. They'd been at an ambassadors' banquet and both of them had come with their parents.

It had been the first time he'd seen Lin dressed up.

Every bit her mother's daughter, Lin constantly put up a large, tough attitude, enough so to make it easy to forget the delicate girl beneath. And she was, truly, delicate. She had a small frame—though he noticed she'd gained weight in some interesting places—and looked miserable in her silk robes. Her dark hair, usually flying everywhere, was pinned up in the traditional earthbending fashion. She might as well have been a china doll. Pretty and lovely, all pale skin and green eyes. The only thing out of place would be the fierce scowl that would inevitably twist her features whenever a boy would go over to her and attempt to woo her by complimenting how lovely she looked.

Hours later, at her insistence, they would sneak out and spar. Her hair would come undone and there would be sweat on her face and mud on her robes.

He liked this Lin better—bold, fierce, and daring, her eyes a bright, bright green.

At the time, he'd thought he'd lost his mind, but all he could remember was feeling himself suddenly stop airbending and walk over to her. She'd looked at him confusedly, but had continued to aim small pebbles his way (always at his head—_always_) until he reached her. _Tenzin, what are you-_

He didn't know why he'd taken the initiative. In retrospect, he probably should have feared for his life, but those sharp, elegant cheekbones were much better framed when her hair was down and there was a tear in the skirt of her robes from the bottom hem to the knee. In that moment, she was _Lin_, and she looked so much more like Lin out here: sleeves rolled up to her elbows, robes loose and flying in the breeze (_his_ breeze), face smiling from the exertion.

He still prides himself on the expression on her face when he'd pulled away.

"What - ?"

"Your hair looks better down."

She continued looking confused.

"You looked…restricted, back in the festival hall. It doesn't suit _you_, sitting and looking pretty."

Slowly, the confused expression melted away to be replaced by a smirk. She'd then promptly pulled him down for another kiss.

Later, that same night, she'd lain curled in his arms, absent-mindedly tracing the arrow on his head, her finger pad smooth against his skin.

"Why do you have this? Why do none of the other benders have special tattoos?"

He shrugged. "Dad says it's an important part of Air Nomad tradition to get them once an airbender becomes a master. I'm the first airbender to be born in over a hundred years. My dad wants me to carry on the traditions."

She nodded. "It's smooth," she said quietly.

"The tattoo?"

"Your head—it's so smooth," she murmured, "Like a pebble."

He'd burst out laughing and she'd looked at him oddly before slapping his face.

It was a memory he revisited often.

Then, there was a day he didn't revisit often.

She'd been twenty-four; he, a year older.

She'd been training to take her mother's place as chief of police, and Toph—along with Aang—had been called away to the Earth Kingdom to settle a dispute between bands of underground crime rings. Toph had, by that point, established a reputation throughout all the kingdoms and especially in Republic City as someone not to cross. Her daughter, on the other hand, was still young and willowy.

After she'd finished locking up a robber in a prison cell, a firebending prison guard had cornered her and lewdly suggested she come with him to his lodge. It wasn't until the guard touched her that she used her bending.

He shot lightning at her; she left him permanently unable to walk. Comparatively, she came out of the ordeal infinitely better than the guard did; however, she didn't leave completely unscathed. The next time she came to Air Temple Island, she was sporting two gashes on her right cheek.

He didn't realize at the time, looking at her, that that day would mark the beginning of the end.

Oh, he saw the changes. She walked swifter and she smiled less, and when she did, it was often a sardonic—almost rueful—lift of her lips instead of her usual mischievous smirk. Her eyes sometimes took on a distant, longing expression and when he'd ask her what she was thinking, her features would harden and she'd tell him absolutely nothing.

Two years later, he'd understand why.

Aang's death came suddenly. The Avatar had been forty-six and in relatively good health. It seemed, however, that his years in the Ice Berg had caught up with him, and a few months after he returned from the Southern Water Tribe looking worse for wear, he fell victim to a virus that was making its way around Republic City.

There had been a large ceremony in honor of his achievements. Tenzin was, of course, required to attend, and Lin had stood next to her mother, back straight, at the head of the police department. Throughout the ceremony, she never once looked in his direction.

After the ceremony, she'd come to Air Temple Island and told him she'd be taking her mother's place as Head of Police. He'd congratulated her. She'd also told him, in no uncertain terms, that it would be better if they stopped seeing each other.

He, naturally, had eloquently replied, "Wha…?"

She'd looked at him indifferently, green eyes cool, and in that moment, for the first time, he felt as though he couldn't touch her if he tried.

"I have responsibilities now that I'm going to be Head of Police. I have a city to protect, the city my mother built and protected. I won't have time to maintain a relationship. I know your father just died," her eyes softened for a moment before she was unreachable again, "and I don't want to add to the stress, so we don't have to break up today. We should, however, start seeing each other less."

"Lin, what, why are you doing this?"

"I have responsibilities now; so do you. This is for your good too. Now that your father is dead, the responsibility of representing the Air Nomads is in your hands." She started walking out.

He walked after her. "Lin, stop this. What are you doing?"

"I'm breaking up with you. Or I'm giving you permission to break up with me—take your pick. You're free to see other girls. How about Pema, Councilwoman Li Pei's daughter? I'm pretty sure she's infatuated with you, even if your ears are way too big."

He grabbed her arm and turned her around. "Lin! Look at me."

She did, her eyes still cool and chillingly blank.

"What brought this on?"

"People change, Tenzin. We've grown apart. Surely, even you can see that, and what with everything that's now expected of us, there's no way this relationship could work."

"That's crap. What are you really doing?"

She scowled. "I'm giving you a way out! We both have priorities now."

"Yes, and I don't see why they can't coexist with our relationship! You're being ridiculous!"

"Am I? Am I really? Do you not realize you are the only airbender left in the entire world? The race of an entire people is now _your_ responsibility."

"I don't see what me having to represent the Air Nomads has to do with us breaking up!"

"Are you really that dense?" she scowled. "I don't want children!"

He'd been shocked. He'd always assumed, as independent as Lin was, that she'd eventually want to have a family.

"What? _Why?_"

"Because," she was composed again, as far away and as icy as the Southern Water Tribe, "I can't have children."

He didn't respond—he didn't know how.

"You remember this," she touched the scar on her face, two dark slivers she'd worn with pride. "Well, it would seem the bastard's lightning did damage to more than just my face."

He couldn't understand how she could be so cool. "That was _two_ _years_ ago," he heard himself whisper,  
"You said you were fine."

"It was a fight, Tenzin. Of course he shot at more than just my face."

Tenzin could only look at her.

"Anyhow, it's not my fault you have the responsibility of repopulating an entire race," underneath the cool apathy, he thought he heard the faintest traces of bitterness, "which, of course, you can't do with me."

And in that moment, he realized how much he'd missed.

She'd _known_. She'd known for the past two years that she couldn't have children. She'd thought about the consequences during that time—_hiding_ the consequences, he realized—slowly distancing herself, until now, finally allowing him to see what had changed her two years ago. _This_ was why she'd smiled less and less, becoming more and more of a cold stranger with each passing day, throwing herself into building her reputation in the police force.

The woman in front of him wasn't a woman in mourning. It was a woman who'd accepted her state and was now stating the facts as simply as though she were commenting on the fact it was raining outside.

"If you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with Councilman Sokka."

And with that, she'd left.

He remembers her face turning away, eyes as unreadable as ever.

She hadn't looked back.

Tenzin sighs, closing his eyes as the image replays in his mind.

A week later, they'd attended another council banquet together; they'd been expected to. Everyone, however had noticed that there was turmoil between the young couple, and when Li Pei's daughter hesitantly approached him, stuttering for a minute before finally asking him if he'd like to dance, he'd accepted. It wasn't until afterwards, when he returned to the table, that he found out Lin had left.

Three days later, he was told by uncle Sokka that Lin had announced they'd broken up.

Now, miles away from Republic City, he looks back at Pema, his wife, cradling their new son, surrounded by their children.

He sighs.

In so many ways, Pema is precisely the opposite of Lin. Between him and Pema, _he_ is the one more likely to become frustrated. Where Pema is serene and calm, Lin is all fire. Where Pema is tender and gentle, Lin is steely and rigid. Everything about Pema is soft: her words, her expressions, her natural way of being; Lin is as sharp at the metal she wields.

Even as a child, Lin had been forward about what she wanted, unlike Pema, who'd blushingly confessed to him her feelings, unable to meet his eyes until he'd gently lifted her chin.

And yet, as forward as she had been at one time, Lin had closed herself off. Perhaps, even as a child, she'd put up a tough image, but she'd never hidden anything, not from him.

_People change, Tenzin_.

_Yes_, he thought. They certainly do.

And he can't help but think that, given the chance, he'd probably change it all back.

* * *

Well. That's that.

If anybody has any suggestions, please message me! Or, look me up on tumblr. I'm music-is-crack DOT tumblr DOT c o m. I check my tumblr more than my email (go figure) so yeah, contact me there.

Also, if you have any requests, feel free to leave a message. I write pretty much all requests, regardless of whether I like the plot/pairing or not.


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